Through The Eyes Of Tate
by ReadingIsTheNewBlack
Summary: A 10 part story told through the eyes of Tate Langdon after the series finale of "Murder House". With Violet refusing to show herself, but making contact through a series of notes will the two star crossed lovers be able to be together in the nether world? And with The Antichrist now living on Earth plain can The Harmons and Murder Houses other residents restore peace to Earth?
1. Chapter 1 - The Reply

American Horror Story -

Through The Eyes of Tate.

Time is irrelevant when your dead. In fact, I don't remember the last time I even looked at a clock. Actually, that's not true, at 3.30pm every weekday she would return home from school. The Harmon's had found a vintage grandfather clock that belonged to the first residents of the house, not that The Montgomery's would have much use for the clock now. Like I said, time is irrelevant when your dead. Even if I hadn't been waiting by the antique clock for her to come back to me, I knew she was home by the sound of her footsteps up the grand staircase. She walked with anger, it bounced off of her on every step she took, yet there was something so delicate about the way she moved.

I don't hear her move any more. In fact this house of the living dead has never before seemed so well, dead to me. Since the house is still on the market, and The Harmon's are determined to frighten off any potential families, things are getting really boring around here. There's too much time to think and reflect, that's how most of us occupants feel in this house. Some find ways of entertaining themselves, like Chad and Patrick, the poofs, they find a source of entertainment in arguing, though I'd argue that was still their hobby when they were alive. Nora spends most of her time locked away in the basement, singing a lullaby or some other melancholy number. I'd like to talk Nora more. I get lonely, and even amongst old friends, like Nora, I get a sense I'm not welcome. I can still play with Beau though, he doesn't judge me, mainly because his mash-potatoe mind can't let him, but it's still nice to know there's someone in this house who doesn't look at you like shit on their shoe. Well, most of them won't look at me at all. Hayden's my only other company, she let's me hang around with her sometimes. She's just as bitter as I am about the events that happened. It eats away at her, then she begins to trash the house. When she's finished with the screaming, the breaking, she's not good company. I'd rather be alone actually.

A perfect little family. It's almost comedy worthy. A family of the walking dead, with the new addition of baby un-born and the ghostly godmother. If I was still Mr Harmon's patient, I'm sure he'd tell me I'm 'being resentful as your lusting after a family scenario you will never have Tate'. I'm not resentful though, no, I'm just angry at how this whole god dam situation played out. I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at myself because I know I could have been a part of that family. I know they would have accepted me if I hadn't done all that fucked up shit. Even Mr Harmon would have come around. He's actually not so bad. Twice now he's seen me in the garden, sitting on me and Violet's wall. He never says anything, he just smiles.

I still go to our wall everyday. Not because I think she's coming back to me, I'm not that fucking naive, but because I still like to pick up the ends of her cigarettes. I like to twirl them around between my fingers and think about her lips being pressed against them. Her lips being pressed against me. On my lips, on my neck, on my..

To tell the truth, I can't even think about sex any more, and believe me I used to think about sex a lot. I start to feel guilty when I think about being with her like that, like I'm somehow abusing her in my thoughts like some sort of rapist, ironic huh?

She hasn't shown herself to me since she found out, but today something usual happened, a sign, maybe. After months of hearing nothing from her, I occasionally go up to her bedroom to reminisce about the times we shared. I picked up some of her favourite CD's, and laid them on the floor. I fondle with them often, Violet loved her music so much that when I touch them I feel like I'm so close to touching her again. I looked up and noticed that a new message had been scribbled on her blackboard, underneath my note, 'I LOVE YOU'. The chalk had spread, and the letters looked shaky, like she'd been shaking when writing her reply, 'I LOVE YOU TOO'.


	2. Chapter 2 - 'World Of Birds'

Chapter Two

I've been called plenty of things in my life. Psychiatrists referred to me as 'resentful', the cock-sucker called me 'sensitive' and the newspapers used headlines like 'Westfield Devil' or 'School Boy Shooter'. Truth is, when you start accepting that you actually are all those things nothing anybody says can bother you any more. When you know your as fucked up as I am, you don't need to be told it by other people. Thing is, even twisted fucks like me fear judgement day at some point. I bet even Satan fears the look his Mrs gives him when he crawls into bed each night. I'd thought of myself as a hero, a saviour to the human race, but you aren't able to lie on judgement day! My judgement day came the day that Violet left me.

I've always been good and reading people, they always show their emotions in their eyes. In every pair of eyes I've ever looked into, I've been unstoppable. Even when my victims looked directly into mine, exposing their desperation for life, all it did was spur me on for my cause, my extermination. I sucked the life out of them and into me. That's how Satan is so powerful, it's believed in every life he takes he grows stronger as that life force and energy enters him. That's why he's so powerful now, there's more devil folk on this earth now than ever before.

See, Violet's eyes were different though. When I first met her they were full of emotion. Depression, boredom, a little bit of darkness, her eye's were what attracted me to her the most. Some great writer once said, 'The eyes are a window to your soul', and he was right, what I was attracted to first about Violet was her soul and how similar it was to mine. Then her eyes changed. They began to show hate and hurt, and betrayal. The one thing I wanted to see in Violet's eyes, to find in her soul, was forgiveness, and I'm still searching for that.

After I found her note I waited in her room for days. That's one good thing about being dead, you don't need to eat or sleep, you develop the patience of a saint and waiting is how you spend every day of your life, just waiting to move on some place else, if you can. Once a day while I was hiding in there I had a unexpected visitor. Moira still insisted on cleaning once a day in Violet's room. For a while she never spoke, her witch eye stared at me while she dusted using the other. She dusted over her bookcase, she beat the rug clean of any lingering dust, but she stayed clear away from the bed I was sitting on. I'd developed some kind of protective circle that made other people fear getting too close to me, like somehow they'd manage to catch the disease of becoming a psychopath. I watched her while she worked, I could tell questions, or opinions, were rising in her throat, but she would swallow these down like they were sick, 'My job is not to ask questions' the batty bitch stated on a few occasions. On her fourth visit she was obviously unable to hold back her opinions any more,

"Your wasting your time, Tate."

She was hobbled over a chest of drawers, her fragile back to me, and I had to fight the urge not to push her into them, stuff her into one of the drawers and leave her to rot in there. She seemed to sense my thoughts and cautiously retreated to standing, both full freaky eyes pointing at me.

"We're all wasting our time, Moira! Surprisingly there's not a lot else I can do with it, being dead and all." She lingered for a moment, and I saw her studying my reply, each cog in her batty brain examining the words. She must have realised I was right as she collected up all her cleaning crap and didn't return the next day.

Boredom struck around midnight that evening and I'd taken to reading the books Violet kept on her shelf. I'd picked out 'World Of Birds', a book that was over-due from the library nearing thirteen years ago. I flicked through the pages. I'd always liked Hawks and Falcon's the most, I think because they were created to hunt, to kill, and yet no one would ever try to change a bird of preys instincts. That would just be unnatural.

Engrossed in the pictures, I didn't even notice her standing in the doorway, she gave her position away with the creak of a floor board. Her face was unreadable, although I had already eliminated the probability that she was feeling forgiving or particularly friendly. I'd suddenly become aware of my 'circle of protection' as she took refuge in the doorway.

'It's one of your favourites' she said, indicating at the book.

I thought it better than to move towards her. At this moment she resembled a Deer and I, The Hunter. I knew one false move, anything too sudden, and she could flee back to hiding again. She edged herself away from the doorway and cautiously moved to the foot on the bed and sat down opposite me. All I words I knew I needed to say to her, all the apologies and regrets, and yet I knew a single word could fuck up this whole situation, so instead I turned the book around to face her, and we began to flick through the dusty 'World Of Bird' pages together.


	3. Chapter 3 - Family Meeting

Chapter Three - Family Meeting

I wasn't sure how long we'd been reading for. With Violet sitting so close to me I was finding it hard to concentrate on pictures of Birds. Her smell was so enticing and whenever she flicked the pages, a wave of lavender sent came off of her body. I'd stopped reading the book and started to focus in on her hands when she turned the pages. After not seeing her for so long I wanted to memorise every part of her now. She must have noticed me staring as she closed 'World Of Birds' and retreated her hands to safety in-between her crossed legs, out of my view. I became suddenly very self conscious about where to look. Sensing the awkward tension in the room, she got up from off the bed and began pacing at the foot of it, something was obviously eating away at her.

'Do you want to do something different?' I suggested, although I regretted my choice of words, I didn't want her to think I was hinting at anything sexual.

"I didn't come back for you Tate!" She blurted out, her expression told me it hadn't meant to come out as violent as it had sounded.

I don't why this made angry, but it did. My mind started hurtling insults at her, "Cock-teasing bitch! Mother fucking whore!", I swallowed these insults down with a deep breath, my chest burned with them like I'd eaten something hot. It's not like I ever thought she truly would come back to me after everything, I think it was the reality of hearing that confirmation come out of her mouth.

"I'm sorry." She said, "I didn't mean for it to come out that way."

In order to prevent calling her every God-damn name under the sun I muttered a measly "fine."

"Tate, I'm here because something's happened, something really bad. And I, we, need your help. I know that everything;s fucked up, and I know you want to change. So I'm giving you a chance to. I can't explain everything right now, but just meet me at seven in the kitchen tonight, okay?" She began to walk towards the bedroom door, but seeing her leaving me in this room alone, again, made me speak up.

"Violet, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't change anything, and I've already said it to you before, but I am so sorry. For every single fucked up thing I have ever done to you. I don't have anywhere else to go, and neither do you, but I wouldn't to be stuck in this house with anyone else but you."

"Well lucky for you Tate, neither of us have a choice." Was all that she said before she walked out of the bedroom.

As I lingered in the hallway next to the kitchen that night I realised I wasn't going to be meeting Violet alone. I heard voices, voices I recognised yet had not heard in months. I walked in and instantly recognised The Harmon's who were sat around the dining table. Vivian Harmon held her newborn in the crease of her arm and rocked him gently. When she noticed me enter she shielded the child's from my view and her eyes daggered towards me. Ben Harmon sat on her left hand side, and upon my arrival he placed a hand on his wife's shoulder, playing the protector. He was protecting her from me. To Ben's left sat Poofy Patrick who sat uncomfortably close to Mr Harmon. Patrick had a itch that Chad obviously wasn't scratching any more, and he'd had eyes for Ben since the family had moved in. To the other side of Patrick stood Chad, his lips curled up at the ends when he saw me enter, a satisfied expression on his face.

"Well, if it isn't the 'Rubber Rapist' himself!" he spat at me, and from the corner of my eye I saw Vivian wince at the name, or maybe the memory.

I remembered at this moment how glad I was to have murdered Chad, not because I have a problems with queens, but because I have a problem with Chad.

"Enough!" Mr Harmon's voice echoed across the kitchen and caused Chad to break out into some irritating smirk, but it had obviously frightened him enough to stay silent.

"Tate, sit down." I sat at the opposite end of the table to the other residents following Mr Harmon's orders. I was slightly pissed that when Violet came into the room she chose the seat next to her mum, not me. The table was split into Mad Mob vs Me and she'd chosen to side with the mob.

"We're just waiting on a few others" Mr Harmon spoke calmly, he was obviously intending to keep the peace between his guests, which I appreciated.

Minutes later Norma swanned in and chose a seat next to the window, isolating herself from the rest of the group and then Moira followed and took her place next to Violet. She placed her hands on the table and rubbed them together nervously in anticipation. Travis was the last to enter, he stumbled in knocking some ornament over on his way making Nora gasp and creating a further awkward tension in the room.

"Is that everyone?" Chad asked impatiently.

"Not quite" Ben replied coolly, and then the house doorbell rang.

Moira got up to answer the door and came with a pained expression on her face. Behind her the Cock-Sucker danced in followed by Billie Dean Howard who looked more ghostly than any of the residents sat around the table. They pulled up a seat either side of me and I realised I was much happier being sat on my own. Constance's 'protective mother mode' did nothing but fuck me off.

'Let's get this family meeting over and done with shall we? Some of us still have lives left to lead." Her sick attempt and humour caused the mob to turn on her in disgust, even Travis, her personal ex puppy dog looked pissed.

"Get on with it Constance, tell them why your here." Mr Harmon growled.

"As some of you already know, I'm hear to talk about your son." Constance directed to Vivian.

"Both of yours son." Her twisted little eyes found satisfaction on moving from Vivian's glare to mine. "We have a problem."


	4. Chapter 4 - Angel Of Light

Chapter 4 - Angel Of Light

Constance's cool façade broke briefly while she sat in the dining chair next to me. Briefly I could see the fear burning behind those black pupils and I recognised that fear, I'd seen the same look in her eyes 15 years ago. April 5th 1994. She had the same look in her eye the day I returned home. The bitch had never been maternal, but that day her instincts had triggered a fear in her, a fear of me. She was sat upright at the dining room table, barely visible behind a cloud of smoke. As I got closer to her I realized she'd been crying and her eyes were red and puffy. She hid the evidence by constantly rubbing them, she refused to let anybody see her cry, she perceived any emotion as being weakness.

"Your home early." She took another furious drag on her cigarette.

"Yeah. Some sort of termination at school. Place was crawling with roaches." I thought I would laugh at my own sick joke, but I felt too numb to feel anything, especially humour. I left in her the dining room, I wanted her to feel alone and to feel frightened. I wanted to leave her feeling the pain which she caused this family, but this time she can't hide this families evil acts - I've done this for the world to see.

Alone on the bed I put on 'Nevermind', my favourite Nirvana album and lied down to face the plastic starts I'd stuck up on my ceiling years ago. In my mind I jumped from star to star. I thought about how long I had left. I'd left the Remington 870 in the library, I re-call it being near the cheerleader. I had thought about taking it with me, I'd become quite attached to it, but I couldn't risk being caught on my way back from school and I needed my plan to be perfect. I needed to die here, in my sanctuary. Nothing can fuck up my finale.

My thoughts were wandering back to that dark place in my mind, the place I store up every evil thought and memory I've ever had. Mr Harmon's voice caused me to snap back to the present meeting.

"Tell them what he's done Constance." He growled, he was speaking to her in this low, threatening way, pressing her to talk. All eye's were on Constance, hanging off her every movement, expect Violet's eye's, they fell on me and I could feel them burning through me. I couldn't find it in me to look back at her.

"There's just something wrong with him." She rubbed in hands in despair, for someone who is always composed the bitch was really struggling to string together a sentence. "He's different, to other children I mean. He doesn't play, he doesn't laugh, he doesn't smile and when he does it's .. _wrong_. I thought I could take care of him, I've dealt with difficult children before, but I can't be responsible for him any more!" I thought perhaps she was talking about me when she mentioned "difficult children" but then I realised she could have been talking about any of her three off-spring.

"To state the obvious here, and I know I'm not the only one thinking this, is anyone in this room really surprised the child's got issues when we are looking at the mother who raised _that!_ " I flew myself towards Chad across the table, using my weight to hold him down I threw my fists everywhere, trying to connect with whatever I could, "I killed you once, and I would love to do it again!" I shouted while we rolled around, I smacked him across his jaw and knocked out a few of his teeth.

"ENOUGH!" Violet's voice was enough to clear my vision back from red to normality and we both sat, like embarrassed children on the floor breathing heavily, Chad bleeding from his mouth. "You're like animals, sit back down." She turned her back on us, and I struggled up and made my way back to my seat, embarrassment was not a emotion I was used to having and I hated every second of it.

"Look, I'm not even sure why Chad and I have been called to this meeting. The kid is nothing to do with us, and I'm not sure how we can help if your have parenting issues. Watch Dr Phil, or send him to a therapist. He's three, all three year old's eat play doh and wipe their shit on the walls." Patrick said and he held his hand out to Chad, who was still picking teeth out from his mouth, and went to leave.

"He killed his nanny last week."

The room fell into silence as each individual attempted to absorb the information. Although in reality I knew this was my child they were talking about, I'd had no paternal, or any connections at all to him until now. What have I done? And how? Am I seriously that evil that any child I have stands no chance of innocence, or normality at all? The only noise in the room came from Vivian who had began to splutter and bubble, using Mr Harmon's head as pillow and I wonder what, if any connection, she felt to the child.

"He's not human. The child, I mean." For the first time Billie Dean Howard had spoken.

"So he's a ghost?" Norma piped up from the window. She sounded cheery and it surprised me she had chosen to have any input on the topic as I assumed she'd given up all interest in children shortly after abandoning the "Noisy Little Monster", Jeffrey.

"He's neither. I feel him, like I can feel spirits, but I can't penetrate his thoughts or hear his voice. All I know is that it's evil, incredibly so." Billie said.

"He's the devil, isn't he?" Norma stated and she turned herself away from the window and faced the table, "You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and has nothing to do with the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies - John 8:44."

Vivian was now inconsolable, she continued to hold Jeffrey tighter and closer to her.

"Well, it doesn't surprise me that the things evil, it's Satan's spawn that's for sure. No offence, Vivian." Patrick said, which just caused louder wailing from her. "Look, all I'm saying is if this child is as dangerous and evil as what you think he is, can we put it out of it's misery somehow?"

"I don't have enough research yet to know whether or not the creature can be killed or exorcised. I've contacted a priest in Massachusetts who has given me contact details of a nun who worked at Briarcliff Manor a mental institution, apparently she witnessed a epidemic of possessions from the Devil himself and might be able to advise us on what we are dealing with." Billie said. "If you don't mind, I have a migraine, using my abilities like this causes me great strain, so I will be leaving." She got up to leave, "Vivian, Jeffrey is perfectly happy and a incredibly normal baby in every other way, other than the obvious. Please do not worry yourself so much. I will report back to you when I have more news." Her and Constance exchanged a friendly smile and she left.

"Well, that's settled then. We wait to hear more news from Billie before we do anything." Mr Harmon said.

"Not exactly. Look, whatever this infant is, I can not look after him any more."

Mr Harmon got to his feed and leant across the table, inches from Constance's face. "What's that supposed to mean constance? If he's a danger you can't leave him at a orphanage or outside a hospital. You have no other option!"

She rose out of her own seat and leant in further to him, un-intimidated, they're faces were nearly touching. "He's a danger to myself and others, no, he can't stay with me." She stood up and began swanning around the table, she had re-found her sense of power and aggression again and she was going to use it. " A child like this needs a fitting home. The devil can't take the souls of those who no longer have any to take."

"He can't stay here, Constance, and you know why!" Ben shouted, but the bitch was already halfway out of the door.

"It's too late, Mr Harmon. He's already here." And she waved a lazy goodbye and walked away down the drive.

Following her into the hallway, we gathered to gaze upon the Spawn of Satan. He sat on the grand staircase, rucksack thrown over his shoulder. He paid no attention to his audience, he continued to stare at his feet. He looked like the most beautiful innocent being in the world.

"For even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light, Corinthians 11:14." Norma's words rang like a bell in all our ears.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Real Family

Chapter 5 - A Real Family

It had been three days since Michael had moved in with the house of the living dead and like most of the house's occupants I had been avoiding him in every way possible. They gave him the nursery and Vivian locked herself and Jeffrey away in her bedroom. This meant the entire middle floor was out of bounds for me, and this also meant I wasn't able to visit Violet's room. I waited for her to come and visit me in the basement, but she didn't, I couldn't help but feel pissed at her. The house was not quiet though, the bringing of a living child into the house had caused a sense of purpose for many of the residents. Moira, who still looked at the child with fear, like he could set fire to himself at any minute still cooked him three meals a day, Patrick and Chad took him for a walk in the garden and Nora took a liking to the child instantly, mainly because since he arrived here he had not spoken a single word, a quality in a child that pleased her.

The only inhabitants who did not contribute to his welcoming in some way apart from me was the Harmon's, who nobody had seen since the child arrived. On the first day of our new guests arrival I kept myself out of reach, by staying in the basement. Travis, who had a overwhelming need for companionship, much like a Labrador, had followed me down there, hoping to 'chill man to man'.  
'I don't do friends.' I had told him. 'Plus if you want anybody else in this shit hole to pay some attention to you, I'd recommend not speaking to me again.'  
'I don't care what anybody else has to say. If I want to be your friend, I'll be your friend.' Travis replied.  
'Being my friend means Moira won't give you any of the old booze she finds in the house any more. You'll miss out on all the wine boxes she uncovered yesterday in the attic." I told him. "She won't give you anything if your friends with me."  
Travis hasn't returned to the basement since.

On the second day, a range of emotions bubbled away inside me. I felt furious at my cock-sucker of a mother, she'd outdone herself this time, and yet there was a sense of curiosity I had about the child. Sure, he looked like me, but I was beginning to wonder as I paced around basement back and fourth, hearing the tiny patter of a child's footsteps on the oak floor above me what traits, other than being psychotic, he had gained from me, and I think this lingering curiosity is what made me visit the nursery.

I started at the door, and decided it was best to open it as fast as I could, meaning there was no chance for me to turn back. I turned the brass handle and the nursery door creaked open revealing the small fair haired child sat cross legged on the floor staring up at me. He had a pencil in his hand, and a pad on the floor, though I was unable to see what he was drawing as his eye's pulled me in instantly. On first appearance they appeared a dark shade of russet brown, similar to mine, but the closer I moved to the child I noticed his eye's grew darker and by the time I had knelt to the floor in front of the small being his iris had swallowed nearly his entire eyes, coating them in a jet black. Although I'd had little experience with handling children, I'd grown up being the only reliable company for Beau and Addie and I realised what I loved the most about children was their innocence. A child is never aware of the shit storm which is life swirling around them, they are oblivious to everything and they hold no responsibility for their actions. Addie and Beau knew nothing of the warped tumours growing away in my brain, they saw me as a God like figure, a brother they could love unconditionally. This 'child' was very different though. Although he looked incredibly delicate and innocent, He had the presence of a fully functioning adult, like he knew exactly who he was and why he was put here, yet he also gave the sinister impression of knowing everything about you. He stared back into my eyes, into my mind and I became overwhelmed with a rare emotion. I've felt love before, deep love before, with Violet. But the love I felt at that moment staring into my child's eyes was unlike anything I could have imagined and as my face broke into a smile, the child mirrored that same crooked smirk back.

"Let me see what you are drawing." I said, and I turned the notebook around to face me. On the paper in front he had drawn a picture of a red haired woman holding a infant in her arms, while giving birth to another. The picture mimicked a child's drawing, the stick figure with the larger than live hands and the potatoe shaped heads, yet the vile drawing itself was enough for me to realize this was not the work of a three year old child. I hesitantly turned the page to find what I was dreading to see. A drawing of Ben Harmon hanging from the grand stair-case's chandelier. The next 18 pages were dedicated to the drawings of each individual who died in this house. Violet's passing in the bathtub, Chad and Patrick's murder, and my own death were all recorded in his little drawing pad. Michael had not been smiling at me due to familiar love, he was smiling at me because he was proud of demented drawings.

I left the nursery without saying a word, and I felt the child's icy stare on the back of my head when I clicked the door to shut behind me. I sat on the stairs for a while, tears burned in my eye's and I could feel them hot and heavy rolling down my cheeks. I fucked up. No, I really fucked up. Despite the fact I'm dead I was struggling to catch my breath. The sweeping emotion of parental love I had felt for Michael in the nursery vanished as I realised he was not my child at all. Undoubtedly the supernatural infant had taken some of my DNA and mirrored a small version of me, but Michael was not a child at all, he was a shape shifter. A daemon who uses the form of a child to entice and mislead others. He was no son of mine, he was no son of anyone's.

"Mum, look I drew you! I drew your long pretty hair, see!"

I heard the child's voice from the stairs and I slunk back to the nursury and found the wooden door cracked open. Carefully and quietly I peered through the crease in the door and witnessed Michael, still in the same position I'd left him in, but his body was turned to the right and it was obvious he was not alone any more. I could make out the silhouette of a woman sat on the floor on his right, her long hair swayed in her shadow when her body moved. Michael had his warped sketchbook in front of him and was proudly flicking through his 'artwork', showing his female companion with a sick smile plastered on his face

'Your such a clever boy! You've made me look so pretty, Michael.' The female spoke.

I didn't need to see the woman to know who it was. Hayden's voice pierced the air around me, it was full of a sickly sweetness, but there was layers of coolness underneath it. She moved closer towards the boy and into my vision, placing a arm around the child and cooing in his ear.

"I thought I heard Daddy come and visit you earlier, did you show him your work?'  
Michael nodded and eagerly thrust another drawing towards her.  
"Ah, you showed him that one! That's one of my favourites." She stroked the top of his fair head. Although I wasn't able to get a glimpse of the drawing, my instinct told me she was referring to the drawing of Mr Harmon's hanging.  
"I'm not sure he liked it though. He left quickly after looking at my drawings." Michael said, and his expression changed to to a pretend look of disappointment, a obvious manipulation.  
"Oh sweetie, don't mind daddy, he's often grumpy with everybody in this house."  
Michaels face lit up in a fake attempt of joy, and the child reached out for his pencil and began to draw frantically.  
"Are you drawing me another picture Michael?"  
The child nodded. "I'm drawing you and daddy. Together. And look, there's me in the middle." He showed her his drawing and her eye's lit up in a villainous manner. His tongue was out in concentration.  
"Oh baby, that's a lovely idea. As soon as mummy's worked out how to get that horrible Violet out the way, then we can all be together, just like your picture."  
"Like a real family." The boy muttered, still fixated on the image in front of him.

I stared at the scene in front of me, my blood cold, and at that moment I wasn't sure who I was scared most of. The Antichrist, or Hayden.


End file.
